'And your phone number?'
'Yes.'
'Strange that a onetime-'
David was sure he would have said fuck if the interview weren't being recorded.
'-exchange… would gain you a permanent place in her address book.'
'I called her once. After that, we became… friends.' Not the right word. What had they been? Lovers? Not the right word either.
'Isn't it true that Flora Martinez was obsessed with you? That she often parked outside your apartment, waiting for you to come and go?'
'Obsessed? I wouldn't call it obsessed. She liked me because I'm a detective. Some women get off on that kind of thing. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about.'
The GBI agent was the kind of guy who would have used his badge to get a woman in bed.
Spaulding placed a small plastic bag on the table. After snapping on a pair of latex gloves, he unzipped the bag and extracted a chunk of red flannel. The nose-stinging stench of old urine filled the small room, and everyone but Spaulding recoiled.
The flannel turned out to be a small drawstring pouch. Spaulding opened it and removed an object wrapped in wet grocery paper. 'We found this with some of the victim's belongings.' He unrolled the paper and spread it on the table.
David's full name was written over and over. Going in the other direction were the words Love me or die, also written numerous times.
Jeez. That was sick as hell. David thought about the way Flora had started coming around, as if he would welcome her as a girlfriend. The way she seemed surprised and shocked when he told her she was going to have to stay away. 'This place is so fucked,' he said, shaking his head.
'Have you ever seen this?' Spaulding asked, indicating the weird mess he'd dumped on the table.
'No.'
'Do you know what it is?'
'I'll bet you'd like to tell me,' David said, trying not to blink as ammonia fumes stung his eyes.
'It's called a mojo. It's supposed to cast a spell over the person whose name is written on the paper. Which would be you. I asked around. In order to keep the spell active, Flora would have urinated on it every day. I'd call that obsessed, wouldn't you?'
David would simply call it fucked-up.
Flora. Jesus. What had she been thinking?
'In fact, she was stalking you, wasn't she?'
'She wasn't a stalker. I was usually glad to see her, although I did eventually ask her to quit coming around.'
'Did she?'
'For a while.'
'Why didn't you report her to the police?'
David looked at him. 'Totally unnecessary.'
'If a prostitute was calling me, sometimes several times a day, plus hanging around my residence-I would have reported her.'
'Of course you would have,' David said sarcastically. Lying bastard.
'When did you last see Flora Martinez?'
'May eleventh.' David thought a moment. 'May twelfth, actually.' By the time they were finished having sex.
'So she was with you late on the eleventh, early on the twelfth? Is that correct?'
Spaulding stood and put a foot on the seat of his chair, an elbow on his knee, and leaned in closer. 'Tell me about May twelfth.'
There was no way David was going to tell him what led to his breakdown that day. 'I went jogging. When I returned, Flora was waiting outside my apartment. End of story.'
'Did she, spend the night?'
'I don't know how long she stayed. I fell asleep. She was gone when I woke up.'
The agent opened his briefcase, pulled out a piece of paper, and slid it across the table. The coroner's preliminary report. 'You can skip down to the bottom,' Spaulding said. 'To where it says 'approximate date and time of death.''
May 11, 2000 hours, to May 13, 0200. 'That's a big spread,' David said.
'Water does that. As I'm sure you know.' 'Right.'
'But as you can see, a significant portion of that time overlaps with Flora's visit to your apartment.'
David slid the paper back across the table. 'What are you saying, Spaulding?'
'I'm saying that you are a prime suspect in the murder of Flora Martinez.'
'That's what I thought you were saying.'
'Another thing you might take note of from the autopsy report-Flora Martinez's throat was cut, just like Enrique Xavier's. You know what I think? I think you mimicked the Xavier murder to throw us off. That's what I think. So, is there anything you'd like to tell us?'
David got to his feet. They had no evidence; they couldn't hold him. 'Other than to ask if your mother picks out your clothes?'
Spaulding laughed and shook his head. David had to admit it was a pretty weak insult, but he was under stress.
'Major Hoffman wants to see you in her office.' Spaulding looked at the two detectives. 'Escort him, will you? We don't want him to get lost and end up in his car, heading for Florida.'
'I'm going to have to ask you to turn in your badge,' Major Hoffman said.
David already had it in his hand.
'I've had numerous complaints about you over the past three months.' She lifted a small stack of papers. 'Would you like to see them?'
'That's okay.'
'These complaints, along with your unprofessional connection to Flora Martinez, reflect poorly on the police department. I have to let you go.'
David placed his badge on Major Hoffman's desk. Then he pulled out his police department gun, unloaded it, and put it and the bullets beside the badge.
He didn't blame the major. She couldn't take a chance on him. And then there was the media. They were going to love this.
'This is a real shame,' Major Hoffman said sadly. 'I think you could have been one of my best detectives. Too bad you're hell-bent on self-destruction.'
David thought about Strata Luna's curse and the cluster effect. All excuses. The major was right; he'd brought this on himself.
'Stay in town,' she told him. 'We may need to bring you in for more questioning.'
He nodded and backed out the door, closing it firmly behind him.
In Elise's office, David shook the contents of his desk drawers into a cardboard box.
It was amazing how much shit a person could accumulate in a short time. It looked like he'd been there for years, not months.
He regarded his loot.
Pens. Pencils. Paper. Receipts. Notebooks. Notes.
Nothing. Just stuff taking up space.
He carried the box to the trash can and dumped it.
From the bulletin board, he removed the photo of him and Elise. He stared at it a moment before tucking it into his jacket pocket.
Footsteps sounded in the hall.
The door crashed open. 'I just heard,' Elise said.
She was out of breath. She was pissed. At him?
